by Jackie Ivie
The king put his arm around Ari’s shoulders, and they started the procession through the halls. Zander wasn’t following, however. He stood against the wall, held her to him, and before many men had passed by, there was a semi-circle of Caesar, Plato and William in front of them, shielding their embrace.
Morganna didn’t even notice.
EPILOGUE
AD 1323
“Tell us the story of Squire Morgan again, Da. Please?”
“I told it once this sennight already. Ask your mum.”
“But ma does na’ have a voice like yours. She does na’ tell it right, either. If she tells it, Squire Morgan is a girl.” The disgust in their second born, Robert KilCreggar-FitzHugh’s voice was obvious.
Morganna had to bite her lip to still the giggle.
“And what would be wrong with that?” the beautiful, tall, black-haired lass asked, lifting her skirts with a graceful motion as she walked over to the fireplace. “Women can toss a blade as well as any man. Why, I’ll wager mum can out-toss any man, even Da.”
Zander raised his hands in defeat. “No contest there, Aphrodite, my love. Your mother always could best me. She has better hands.”
“She’s still a girl,” Robert complained.
“True enough, and I’m verra grateful for that.” Zander stopped and cleared his throat. “Have I ever told you the tale about how Squire Morgan helped me save your mum from the evil, English-loving laird of the FitzHughs? Sit. I’ll tell you that one.”
“I’d rather hear about the Killoren-Mactarvat skirmish, where Squire Morgan pegged arrows in every one of the warrior’s shields!”
Zander rolled his eyes and Morgan giggled. Then, she stilled as those midnight-blue eyes caught and held hers.
“Oh no,” Robert complained. “There they go again. We’ll never get our story.”
“Hush!” The lass nudged her brother. “They’re in love. I may find such a love, some day.”
Zander shook himself and turned back to his eldest, and Morganna watched his face soften. “Oh, you have my word, there’s a man out there for you, love. He’s been fashioned just for you, too. Trust me. I know these things.”
“He’ll have to be verra tall,” Robert snickered.
“True enough,” Zander replied, “He’ll be tall and strong and righteous. He’ll have to be a Scotsman, too.”
“Doona’ forget handsome,” Morganna inserted.
“He’s going to have to be extra handsome, too, if he wants to gain my beauteous Aphrodite’s hand. That much is certain, too.”
Morganna watched their eldest blush at her father’s words. It made the girl even more lovely. She was nearly thirteen, willow thin, and as tall as her mother. She also had perfect stitches in every one of her tapestries, a talent for paints, and an excellent hand when it came to the running of the KilCreggar-FitzHugh household.
“You’re not telling us about Squire Morgan,” Robert complained.
“I swear, Robert, you grow more like your mother when I first met her, with every passing day. Why, there was once a time when she never smiled. Not once. She was always serious, always thinking of one thing, and one thing only. She was impossible to sway...well, almost.”
“What was that?” Their second son, Garrick, spoke up, lifting his head from his ledgers.
“Me, of course,” Zander replied.
“Zander...,” Morganna said, in a semi-threatening tone.
“Oh, verra well. She was bent on clan war. She hadn’t a bone of softness in her. Why, she hadn’t even any notion that she’d met the man made just for her, either. I had to show her. She was verra stubborn about it, too. Verra.”
Robert sighed loudly. “When are we going to hear about Squire Morgan?” he asked.
Zander laughed and cleared his throat. Morganna watched him, and couldn’t prevent the smile. The one thing he loved was talking with that great orator’s voice of his. She bent back to the parchment she was sanding, prior to sending it off.
She twirled the large ring, which hung from a chain about her neck. She tipped her candle and poured a little wax. Then, she blew until it was the right consistency to hold the intertwined dragon symbol into it. She would call for a messenger later. They had news. The baby she carried wasn’t going to wait another fortnight to be born, and Zander’s mother wouldn’t wish to miss it.
That woman had Morganna’s promise that she got to name all the lasses. Morganna shook her head. Zander’s mother always seemed to get her way, and it wasn’t by anything more than a sweet smile, a constant stream of soft words, and a loving embrace.
“Gather round, children. I’ve a story to tell, and it’s one of blood, pain, war and victory. It’s one they’ll be telling for all time. It’s the story of Squire Morgan.”
Garrick put down his quill, Robert leaned forward in his chair, Aphrodite picked up her sewing hoop and sat beside her father, and even the baby, Rory, started crawling toward them. Morganna watched Zander scoop the tot up and put him on his lap before regaining his seat. He was in his element.
“It was a mist-filled night, back before any of you were born. Back a-fore Scotland was even its own country. We were under the English, then. It was a time of darkness. A time of suffering. Why, there wasn’t a clansman on the earth that hadn’t been toiling for years under the yoke of the Sassenach tyranny.”
“What’s tyranny?” Garrick asked.
“Hush!” Robert replied.
“English laws and rules. Why, they dinna’ even allow us to carry a weapon. I know why, too.”
“Why?” Garrick asked again.
“They were afraid of us. A good Scotsman with a bow is worth ten Englishmen. A Scotsmen with a dirk is worth six with a sword. They knew it, so they kept us without. They kept us poor. They even had laws against the wearing of our colors. They had us pay taxes to support them. They took our lasses. They put us under an English king’s rule. It was more than any good Scotsman should have to bear.”
“So, what happened on the misty night?’ Robert asked.
Zander blew the sigh, and Morganna smiled again. Robert was very like her in temperament, although he looked exactly like his father probably had at that age. He was also deadly with whatever weapon they put in his hands. He always had been. Better yet, he had already matched his sister in height, and was going to meet, or exceed Zander’s. It was enough to make any mother’s heart proud.
Morganna thought hers might burst with it.
“That lad has as much patience as a rutting elk,” Elspeth spoke up from her position in a rocking chair. She had a shawl about her thin shoulders and was nursing a cup of broth in her hands. Morganna smiled across at her. Elspeth wasn’t up to moving much anymore, but she had a bit of age on her, and that was expected. “He’s been spoiled.”
“And who might be the party responsible for that, I ask?” Zander asked from amid his children.
Elspeth’s lips twitched. Morganna had to look aside. All knew the lad had his aunt’s completely adoration. It had been that way since he was birthed. Elspeth doted on each in turn, however, and told Morganna she couldn’t wait for another bairn to hold.
“I ’fess up, Zander KilCreggar-FitzHugh. I spoiled him. I held him when he cried, and I held him when he slept. I’d do it now if he was na’ so large. You doona’ understand how healing it is.”
“Aye, we do, sister. We do.”
Elspeth and Morganna smiled at each other, and it was in complete communication and acceptance.
Zander cleared his throat. “Now…where was I?”
“The misty night, the battle, the wound!” Robert replied.
“Yes, well...I had taken a sword blow, and had nothing left to do in this life but watch my blood stain the soil, when out of the mist strolled a lad, as bold as you can be, and as strong. He pulled the sword from me, stopping the bleeding, and then he turned on the English with the most horrid yell. He had a dragon blade in his other hand, the mate to the one your mother has mounted up on the wal
l, beside her square of KilCreggar plaid, over yon.”
They all looked to where Zander pointed. He waited for the effect. Morganna’s lips twitched again. When it came to telling a story, Zander had no equal.
“Then, Squire Morgan took his blade, he turned on the Sassenach, and he routed them. All of them. I never saw the like.”
“Zander.” Morganna interrupted, and everyone looked over at her, except Rory. He was already nodding off in his father’s arms.
“The king tells the same story,” he replied, defensively.
“Doona’ embroider it too much.”
He smiled, and although he lamented the gray streaked in his hair, and the lines about those midnight-blue eyes, her heart swelled the same as always. Zander KilCreggar-FitzHugh was still a very handsome man. He always would be.
“There is nothing I can say that would do so, love.”
Morganna’s gaze was caught and held. She recognized the sensation, and she was blushing worse than her daughter had, before Robert complained again with the same tone of disgust.
“There they go again,” he said.
Dedication
"To Barbara, who was with me for every chapter."
Copyright © 2014 by Jackie Ivie
ISBN 978-1-939820-34-1
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